The Black Diamond Heavies hail from the southern States of America but spend most of their time in a blue Van or a white van unleashing their punk-ass bues all over the world "This Tennessee-Hailing Duo have produced a debut of filthy Southern blues that makes the Black Keys seem like choirboys" --NME

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"the Heavies like to keep things as raw and ground-up as dirt - drums with a trashcan rattle that sound huge and far away (like they were recorded in a wide-open space down the street) and overdriven Fender Rhodes. That's all there is to it, but then again, there's so much more." --Phoenix New Times

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preacher-isers John Wesley Myers and Van Campbell baptise you in beatific raptures of Hammond, Rhodes and Drums, literally stripping the sound down to its scantily-clad soul. Almost too perfectly Myers is the literal son of a (Baptist) preacher man, whereas Campbell descends from a Bourbon-distilling family. As it is, you can absolutely bloody tell too, such is the whiskey-swilling testifying herein. Voodoo shuffles its sinicious way through..." "... swigging, swaggering and setting the VU meters swinging right through the red like a shamans trance-eyes for the entire ceremony till the closing corpse-raising broadsides you with it's mutant Tina Turner chicken-dancing on a Motown mamba mantra. Funky cactus-caressed wagon-train blues...." "... aren't so much like Canned Heat as they heat yer can, violate viscera and turn your pupils to pulp direct from the pulpit. "...draped in ditch-dirt and paying the tab at the Devils Inn with small change from the confession box, while swabbing woulds with sandpaper." -- Stu Gibson